And MacHeath has got a knife, but not in such an obvious place…

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for JustAnotherManiacShe’sAManiacOnTheFloorAndShe’sDancingLikeSheNeverDancedBefore…Sorry…ManicMonday, April 28^rd , 2014.

Happy Birthday to Anne, who turns twenty-four today in Al-t-t-toonaTown.  

Happy Birthday also to Greg, who also turns twenty-four today, in FairBrooklynThePrideOfTheThornInTheSideOfNewYork.

Happy Belated Birthday, meanwhile, to Christina and Dena, Israel and Letta, and Raechal and OurAmericanCousin Roxane, each of whom turned twenty-four this past weekend in such disparate locations as MaryLand and Virginia, Greater Bostonia and The City Of Brotherly Love Handles, and Jew Nersey and Fran Sancisco, where We hear it’s lovely, but where We also hear that they think Rice-A-Roni™ is a treat.

We would have a little contest to see who could most quickly and correctly match the belated birthday boyz and gurlz with their correct geographic locations, but then We would most likely realize how very few people are paying any attention to Us whatsoever.

For those of you who enjoy Stories In Which We Are Tortured (which is all of you, yes?), We would like to point out that Our next-door neighbor’s kitchen renovation continues apace, for the four hundred and elebenty-twelve-billionth week in a row, with all of the attendant hammering, drilling, and whatnot One could possibly wish to enjoy with One’s morning coffee.  (Said “whatnot” includes, but is not limited to, outbursts of language which would make Us blush (if We were not already a cunning linguist Our Own Self.))

In other news, We are awaiting with bated breath (because We are nothing if not a master breath-bater) the arrival of Our birthday gift of tickets to see Hedwig and the Angry Inch starring Neil Patrick Harris and Lotte Lenya…

In still other news, please Save The Dates for Thursday, May 8^th, for the next installment of The Walker and O’Dare Radio Mystery Hour at the Powel House, and Saturday, May 10^th, as the WaitStaff will be playing The Mother of All Match Games at L’Etage.  More on that story as it develops, but inside sources tell Us that Jesus H. Christ’s celebrity chair will be taken by His Mother, Mrs. Mary MotherOfGod! You won’t want to miss THAT!

We suddenly find Ourselves (not that We were looking for Us, but it’s a figger of speech) in the sign of Taurus, Our video for which is above, and here is the link with which you may share it with your friends:

http://youtu.be/iGNw4zF7MSs

Also, for those of you who like cups of tea, and history, and someone in a tree, here is Our previous Taurus video, which is somewhat of a fillum noir, if you will. (Or even if you won’t…since when is it all about you?):

And here’s the HorrorScope:

In celebrity birthday news, it is the birthday of some lovely specimen named Drew Seeley, of whom We have (much like what’s-his-pecs on Friday) never heard.  However, some crafty Googling on Wikipedia has enabled Us to pinpoint the onset of Our disconnect with current pop culture to Our complete ignorance of the entire High School Musical series.  Said ignorance, We hasten to assure you, seems destined to continue unabated, despite the existence in The Universe of Zac Efron’s (circumcised) penis.

In non-penis-related celebrity birthday news, this past weekend marked the birthday of Jack Klugman, which We bring up as an excuse to say, “Hi, Sharon!”

You’re exploring new territory today (Are We spelunking?  Because that sounds like more fun.  (Although “spelunkers have more fun” sounds like a terrible slogan.))

— maybe in the company of coworkers, maybe on your own entirely. (Oh, please.  Do you even need to ask?  We have no cow orkers.  All of Our cows are, sadly, unorked.)

The terrific energy that courses through you as you make discoveries is its own reward!  (Well, it’ll have to be, won’t it?  It’s not like any other rewards are coming along any time soon…)

The ball is totally in your court, (Just the one? Where’s the other one?)

 and you could be nearing the end of the game.  (Well, there’s a cheerful thought.)

Give it your all (Yeah, ya know, We try that…and still We wind up screwed.  Meanwhile, however, much like Ashton Kutcher’s The Butterfly Effect, the fact that We just got screwed has caused Us to refrain from doing A Nice Thing We were gonna do, and…JEEBUS CRIPES, STOP THAT INCESSANT DRILLING, OR WE’RE GONNA COME OVER THERE!)

— holding back now just confuses your teammates and might give your opponents just the opening they’re waiting for.  (Wait…Our opponents are waiting for Our opening?  Since when?)

You don’t want to do that, (Or much of anything else, neither.)

especially when the prize is just within your reach. (That’s whatcha get in CrackerJacks™.)

(What?)

 Most of all, you deserve it — a fact that competitors have to acknowledge.  (So are people who compete on the InterNetz dot.competitors?)

(Sorry.)

Keep up the good work!  (Kiss Our assets!  Also,  Our grits!)

 You know what? (Chicken butt.)

 Things are always, always greener, (It’s not easy being greener.)   

                            

so don’t make a wish. (Ice cream…is a dish…Moss Hart makes…)       

It might come true. (And We wouldn’t want THAT, now would We?)     

Avoid spending too much time lamenting your single status (But We are such a good lamenter…)

 — it’s really a blessing in disguise. (So it looks like a fucking curse, then?)

(Heh…see what We did there?)

You don’t realize it, but you’re the envy of all your attached friends.  (Well, sure.  If, by “attached friends”, you mean “conjoined twins”.)

Revel in it, baby!  (Oh, shut up.)

Namaste, MotherFuckers.

In gaseousness,

Starzina Starfish-Browne

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com)

 (Meanwhile, why We didn’t think of this sooner, We’ve got no idea, but better laid than necking, as they say (and how right they are!).  For real live actual ass(tromlaogical) ho(roscopular) advice, please visit Our good friend AstroGeek here:  http://sett.com/astrogeek895/.  Our Own epistular musings are of use to you only insofar as making you feel better by comparison, but he will give you actual pertinent advice for your very own lives, based on upon the positions and transitations of all manner of planets, planetoids, asteroids, Altoids™, hemorrhoids, and other heavenly flotsam, jetsam, and Jetsons.  Plus, he knows all about Uranus!)

*****************************************************************************

Starzina Starfish-Browne was born in the wagon of a traveling show…well, okay, not really. She was actually born in Lowake, Texas, the daughter of a beautician and either a garage mechanic or the town mailman. At sixteen, she escaped her humble beginnings by running off with Doctor Browne’s Traveling Medicine Show and, more to the point, Doctor Browne. Following the dissolution of this unfortunate entanglement (Doctor Browne was a Virgo and Starzina is, of course, an Aries), which produced a daughter, Starzina entered a contest in Soap Opera Digest and won a scholarship to Oxford (yes, in ENGLAND), where she earned her doctorate in the newly-created dual major of Astrology and Human Sexuality. There is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor that Starzina’s second daughter has Royal blood, despite tabloid photographs allegedly depicting her cavorting on the Italian Riviera with Princes William and Harry, clad only in Prussian helmets and armbands of questionable taste. Starzina currently resides with her daughters in Philadelphia, the City That Loves You (On Your) Back, where she enjoys Double Coupon Day at the local SuperCruise and “encouraging” the coxswain of the Penn rowing team.

                                                                                                                                     

Just Two Men Who Do Si Do

Just Two Men Who Do Si Do

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  GoodPieRupeeTuesday, HookahDanangAniméAnew, VenuesChainsWithBenVereen’sNudeLegs, StiltLimeGunnerMitchWho?, May 21th, 2013.  It has come to Our attention that some Gentle Readers may be flummoxed by Our “Tuesday’s child is Jacques Cousteau” verse of late.  Here is a helpful hint:  begin singing at “GoodPieRupeeTuesday”, then continue singing throughout.  You will be amazed, astonished, agog, and aghast.  You’re welcome.

Happy Birthday, meanwhile, to John, who turns twenty-four somewhere or another that We’re going to have to look up…California.  Why We did not know that off the top of Our head, We have no idea.  Also, Happy Belated Victoria Day to all of Our Gentle Readers named Victoria.

We would ask if you missed Us, but We are already painfully aware of Our sound-of-one-hand-clapping-erasers status with YouPeople.  We were too busy yesterday with A Serious Writing Assignment to find time to pen an e-pissode of this frivolity.  Today, We shall be attempting to sell someone on said Serious Writing Assignment.  Also eating meatball sandwiches.  This, apparently, is why We have arisen at the crack of @ss.

Long-term Eric’s!Daily!Horoscope! readers are no doubt imagining “eating meatball sandwiches” to be some sort of perverse euphemism.  Alas (also alack), it means nothing more than the consumption of sandwiches containing meatballs.  For lunch. Sigh.

On the plus side, the aforementioned meatballs are homemade.  On the plus siZe, Our ass.

And now the HorrorScopes:

Speaking of meatballs, it is Jeffrey Dahmer’s birthday.  As if things weren’t already weird enough.

You have to let go of a personal issue for the day (It’s not a personal hygiene issue, is it?  Because We already have that Not So Fresh Feeling, and we haven’t even eaten any meatballs yet.)

(Is it just Us, or does this “meatball eating” business sound dirtier every time We say it?)

— even if it feels totally vital! (Everything feels totally more vital when you stick a random exclamation point after it!  AssHat!)

Things just aren’t looking good for someone close to you, (What things specifically are they looking at?)

and their needs have to come first for the time being. (Have a meatball!)

You are awfully good at taking care of yourself  (We ARE!  We can wipe Our Own ass and everything.)

(What the fuck is this dizzy cow talking about?)

— but have you been overdoing it just a little bit lately? (Overdoing taking care of Ourself?  As in, taking too good care of Ourself?  So We should just let Ourself go a little, is what you’re saying?)

Be brutally honest with yourself today, (Liar, liar, muumuu on fire.)

 and the answer just might be ‘yes’. (Which would be lovely, if We had any earthly idea what the question was.)

You need to deter your selfish urges and think of other people first for a little while (Indeed.  So, speaking of other people, what can other people do for Us?)

— if for no other reason than to put some more positive points into your karma account.  (Otherwise, Our mouth might write a karma check that Our ass can’t cash.  Also, karma karma karma karma karma chameleon.)

You can start small (Small?  Honey, that ship has sailed.)

— hold the door for someone. (Alternatively, hold the phone.  Or, hold your horses.  Or, William Holden.)

Pay the toll for the car behind you. (That’s no car, that’s Our ass.  Now you’ve hurt Our feelings.)

Little things mean a lot. (Also, lottle things mean a lit.  And, Lotte Lenya.)

Your social graces are astounding.  (That’s certainly one word for them.)

You know exactly what to put out there and what to play close to your chest.  (It’s like the Kenny Rogers song:  You gotta know William Holden, know Barbara Feldon, know when Anne Hathaway, not Nora Dunn.)

(Oh, is that stuck in your head now?  Too bad, so sad, anal sex with your dad.)

It’s part of what makes you so appealing. (That, and Our meatballs.)

A certain someone finds your sense of discretion most intriguing. (If you put “in bed” at the end of that, it sounds just like a Chinese fortune cookie.  (As opposed, We suppose, to a Lithuanian fortune cookie.))

In gaseousness,

Starzina Starfish-Browne

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com)

(Meanwhile, why We didn’t think of this sooner, We’ve got no idea, but better laid than necking, as they say (and how right they are!).  For real live actual ass(tromlaogical) ho(roscopular) advice, please visit Our good friend AstroGeek here:  http://agskylab.blogspot.com/.  Our Own epistular musings are of use to you only insofar as making you feel better by comparison, but he will give you actual pertinent advice for your very own lives, based on upon the positions and transitations of all manner of planets, planetoids, asteroids, Altoids™, hemorrhoids, and other heavenly flotsam, jetsam, and Jetsons.  Plus, he knows all about Uranus!)

*****************************************************************************

Starzina Starfish-Browne was born in the wagon of a traveling show…well, okay, not really. She was actually born in Lowake, Texas, the daughter of a beautician and either a garage mechanic or the town mailman. At sixteen, she escaped her humble beginnings by running off with Doctor Browne’s Traveling Medicine Show and, more to the point, Doctor Browne. Following the dissolution of this unfortunate entanglement (Doctor Browne was a Virgo and Starzina is, of course, an Aries), which produced a daughter, Starzina entered a contest in Soap Opera Digest and won a scholarship to Oxford (yes, in ENGLAND), where she earned her doctorate in the newly-created dual major of Astrology and Human Sexuality. There is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor that Starzina’s second daughter has Royal blood, despite tabloid photographs allegedly depicting her cavorting on the Italian Riviera with Princes William and Harry, clad only in Prussian helmets and armbands of questionable taste. Starzina currently resides with her daughters in Philadelphia, the City That Loves You (On Your) Back, where she enjoys Double Coupon Day at the local SuperCruise and “encouraging” the coxswain of the Penn rowing team.

                                                                                                                                     

Vi-O-Lated in her slumber…Mackie, how much did you charge?

Greetings, Ectomorphic Rhinoceros Ingests Celery---


Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, June 09, 2010 (Happy birthday to Sharon, who turns twenty-four today. Also, happy birthday to Doug, who also turns twenty-four today. (Although if Doug is still actually reading these horoscopes, We’ll eat…well, something that We no doubt shouldn’t be eating.) And of course, lassoed but not leased, lashed but not leafed, latte unlisted Franz Liszt, and a whole lotta other L words Lotte Lenya, happy birthday to Johnny Depp, who also also turns twenty-four today, on (naturally) Hump Day. One hump or two, dromedary didgeridoo, inky dinky parlez vous. (As you can tell, We are just a tad verklempt at the thought that, somewhere in The Universe (possibly France), Johnny Depp is eating cake. No, seriously. He is HAVING his cake, and EATING IT, too. Sigh.)):


(There were four “also”s in the preceding paragraph. Which is alsomost, but not quite, enough for a rousing round of “Where’s Walso?” (As you may have already noticed, We got nothin’ this morning. All those birthday folk humping each other have left Us fresh out of funny.))


(Then and again, exactly how funny can an installment of Eric’s Daily Horoscope be when it has already referenced Franz Liszt and Lotte Lenya?)


(Lois Lane, Larry Linville, Lucy Liu.)


(What?)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Like it or not (Shouldn’t that be “like it or lump it”? (While wearing a Bump-It™ and eating a crumpet? (Meanwhile, in the true Eric’s Daily Horoscope spirit of Inquiring Minds Who Want To Know, We just went a-Googling on Wikipedia to ascertain just exactly what “lump it” in the phrase “like it or lump it” means. The origin is, apparently, unknown, although most American scholars take it to mean “shove it (up your @ss)”. One lone Brit (who appeared to have done some actual research) unearthed an obsolete meaning for “lump” as “to sulk”. The Americans promptly shoved said meaning up his @ss.)))


-- and you probably won't (Listen, Bee-Yotch, there were three parentheticals in between here and the beginning of your stupid sentence…”probably won’t” WHAT?)


-- you'll need to rearrange your schedule today to accommodate the whims of higher-ups, who, for some reason, won't see the urgency you do in keeping to a set routine. (Well. How very mysterious and murky. We do, in fact, have a wee project afoot later, but We cannot talk about it just yet, as it is all very hush-hush, Sweet Charlotte, keep it down now, voices carry. (Pop culture hot, pop culture cold, pop culture in the blender, whip, puree, frappe.))


(Paging RuPaul…RuPaul to the white courtesy phone, please…)


Deal with it. (Shove it up your @ss.)


There's something to be said for flexibility. (Especially when attempting to shove things up your @ss.)


Remember Mom asking you at least a thousand times if everyone else jumped off the bridge, would you? (If We’ve told you once, We’ve told you a million times: don’t exaggerate. Also, no.)


If you're not sure, at least invest in a parachute. (Or some kind of shoot, anyway. (Probably not a bumbershoot, though. And definitely not a bamboo shoot. Because what the h3ll are you going to accomplish with just one bamboo shoot? (See, YouPeople can go blithely about your daily lives because you’ve got Us here to worry about these things.)))


Your quest right now is this: Does the end always justify the means? (No, but if it mystifies the jeans, then apparently they DO make you look fat.)


(What?)


If you're in doubt, don't cock the trigger. (Oh, see, now. Sometimes, the jokes just make themselves.)






(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




because Cowgrass Fahms remembuhs)